You know, I used to watch all these movies where people ended up doing that "I'm happy right where I am" shit, and think, "how the fuck can they do that?" Because, well, I was moving all over the fuckin' place. I never knew where I was gonna end up.

But ...

For some reason, I haven't needed to move much, save for this road trip I'm takin' soon enough.

And ... And I really like it. Having a place where I can walk in the door, hang up my jacket, and just sit. And know that, in a couple weeks, I can still walk in the door, hang up my jacket, and just sit - in the same chair.

These questions, for one, they keep getting stranger. Desert islands, and such. But seriously, let me think. I know I've gotten those sorts of gifts from relatives who never see you, and don't know what in the hell you'd want. Do those count?

Because one birthday, when I was in police academy, my Aunt Rachel sent me a shirt box full of ... socks. Yeah. Socks. Very ugly socks, too. They couldn't just have been plain white socks, or anything. No. These had argyle patterns, plaid, stripes, and ... I think one pair even had little beetles or something.

Though, I'd put that under -stupid- gifts, not odd.

For odd ... I might have to go with that perpetual-motion desk thing that Maureen gave me once. Had a dolphin on it that went through this hoop, over and over.

First reason why this was odd? ... I've never really been a dolphin person.

Second? I don't have a permanent office where I can put that kinda kitsch.

But hey. Odd gifts are a part of life, I guess. Or something. ... I dunno, this is just usually the part where I try to sound profound, lately. I don't know who I think I'm fooling with it, though.

I assess the situation. I do what logic dictates ... Which means, depending on the confrontation, I either handle it, or I DON'T.

Right now I'm in a very heavy state of don't.

I don't like failing at a confrontation - particularly one of the professional sort. If I know I'm on my way down, I try to pull out everything I can over it, and stop myself from failing, from losing.

Smecker sits in his hotel room, watching Dinotron eat the last of the small dog-food cans left mysteriously by his hotel room door, and looks over the planner on his laptop, trying to find a good time to meet with Clare in the park and talk mutts. As he waits for the planner to load, he checks his e-mail for any results on the cleaners from Shaw's apartment.

Nothing.

Apparently the background checks were elusive, sketchy at best. Krycek's covering his trail again. Smecker sets his jaw - he knows that they could have that bastard but good, if they could only find some REAL evidence, nothing as insubstantial as bloody bedsheets (something out of some sordid soap mystery) or drugs in coat pockets, both linked to a witness who will likely deny everything for the sake of saving his own ass.

In fact, he realizes, anything that they had ever thought could be hard evidence is shit.

Everything is.

And he has a sinking feeling that no matter what they'll find, Krycek or Shaw will find a way to make THAT insubstantial, as well.

The leads they had are fast growing cold, something Smecker never could deal with well, and he feels a temper tantrum rising up in his chest, burning and tight. He refrains from loosing it, however, since his temper usually ends with things being thrown and knocked about, and he doesn't want to hurt Dinotron.

Evenin', everyone. Just dropping a note to tell you all that I'm going to put in to Damuro for a different assignment ... it's nothing personal, it's been a pleasure working with both of you - and I do mean that. I hope we'll at least cross paths again in the future. However ... I can't work this assignment any longer. It's too cold for me, too stagnant. Bauer can have it if he wants it, and may he chase that recalcitrant little fuck for the rest of his days ... but I've had enough.

Take care,~ Smecker

He surveys the email, then nods to himself and hits send. It's never an easy decision to drop a case, especially one he's put so much energy and effort into - but in the end, it's always a clear decision, too.

Grabbing his jacket, he puts down some newspaper in the bathtub for Dinotron, then decides to head out for a quick dinner, some time at the shooting range, and maybe afterwards, a bar.

Somehow, I'm managing to keep the dog out of housekeeping's way ... mostly by taking it out for a walk when I know they're cleaning. Someone left dog food by my room door for some reason, which weirded me out for a while. But it's dog food. So Dinotron's not eating my sandwich meat anymore. Much better on both of us.

I'm considering moving into the Garage, seriously, now... I just need to figure out who to talk to.

I'm going to go see him, now, I think. Should probably take Dinotron. Don't know how Cori and Mist are going to react to that, but ... s'better than leaving him to make a mess of my hotel room. 'Least he quieted up when I fed him some of the ham from my sandwich.

So now I have a dog. For who knows how long. Audrey's little furbally dog Dinotron. The Dinotron bit's followed by a number. Can't remember what. But it likes me, and Aud trusts me, so she left me with the dog while she goes away for a while.

Sneaking it into the hotel was fun.

Maybe I -will- think about moving into the Garage. But who the hell do I ask? Clare? Rob? Abby? None of whom I really know very well ...

Hrm.

But then again ...

Dog.

Which is barking at me. Gotta find some way to shut it up. If not ... I can always flash my badge and say it's evidence or something, right?

You are Emily Dickinson! Not all that much isknown about Emily Dickinson, probably becauseshe holed herself up in her room and wrotepoetry. She didn't have very many connectionswith the world outside her house, and herpoetry is very introspective andcompartmentalized. You need to get out more.

Well, Mulder came to me last night and said he's got enough to arrest our link we found, the guy who could be connected with Krycek. Hopefully we're going after the little smartass tonight. 'Parently he caused some ruckus at the library and all sorts of other shit ... Fine, fine. As long as SOMETHING just gets done I'm all for it.

I really am.

Cuz before Mulder found me, I was about to take the heels to the street again.

I've been worried about Charlie ... so many things keep happening to the poor guy. He oughta be -happy- for Chrissakes. And Audrey, too ...

Wonder how Tom is doing ...

Ehh. I'm hungry. Think I'll go find some lunch, take my book of Eliot with me. Or maybe some Sherwood Anderson - Winesburg, Ohio seems appealing for some reason.

I go out of New York to go visit Maureen and clear my head, and this is what I get, two questions... one that seems like I answered it back in second grade, and one that's just a little personal for my tastes ...

Woke up early this morning, after a weird dream that I can't quite remember ... oh well. At least things are better with Charlie, now ... so I slept a little better. And no hangover this morning - which is good. Heh...

Time to go snag a bagel from the continental buffet downstairs and maybe go for a walk.

Hangover's starting to dissipate ... I think I'll order a wrap from room service and just stay in with the books I picked up at Columbia after the meeting ... T.S Eliot sounds really good, right now... Maybe "J. Alfred Prufrock":

And would it have been worth it, after all,Would it have been worth while,After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --And this, and so much more?--It is impossible to say just what I mean!But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:Would it have been worth whileIf one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,And turning toward the window, should say:"That is not it at all,That is not what I meant, at all."

*turns up the speakers on his laptop and calls room service for a bigger bottle of gin than the one in the minibar, then proceeds to shove his spare set of clothing into the back of the closet, for once not caring how neat he is about it, mouthing along with the words at first until he begins to sing without realizing it*

Just tell me what you've got to say to meI've been waiting for so long to hear the truthIt comes as no surprise at all you seeSo cut the crap and tell me that we're through

Now I know your heart, I know your mindYou don't even know you're bein' unkind...So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways!Just use me up and then you walk awayBoy, you can't play me that way...

Well, I guess what you say is trueI could never be the right kind of girl for you...

Dammit, Charlie. It's been at least five years. ...How the hell can you still -know- me like this??

Dammit, dammit, dammit. He's right. I -can- name all the little things. Like the stupid breath spray. That idiotic way he mocks people ("An' they come stumblin' down the alley, 'too ra loo ra loo ra'..."). How cute he looks when he's freaked out. The way he has to accent practically everything he says with his hands...